


Portraits

by Queenofthemorgue



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 06:28:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12699264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthemorgue/pseuds/Queenofthemorgue
Summary: Photography. Simply a new game The Phantom played. A game that captured the image of a most willing subject.





	1. The first of many

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews always welcome!

It was after Christine had left him when Erik turned to even more artistic pursuits than before. Photography was simply a new game he now played. Music was there, of course, it is always there. It just, wasn’t the same. Don Juan had died up above on stage and died just the same in the place of its creation. After months of silence and the assumed death of The Phantom, Meg was shocked to find a black edged letter sitting on the table of the dressing room Christine once occupied. 

She had taken the room over a little selfishly, she did deserve it after all her years of hard work, and no one else would use it because of the reputation of all of the sinister events that have taken place there. Meg figured out how to open the door to the mirror months ago, but didn’t think it right for her to go traipsing into his home. If he was there she’d be dead before she could even think to defend herself, if he wasn’t, it would feel like a hollow tomb. 

Meg wasted no time opening the red-wax seal, she had to read the letter over and over before she could even process the request. Which included her presence, in his home, he would meet her at the mirror late into the night. She was to wear her best day dress, bring her best evening dress, and her best rehearsal dress and pointe shoes. No reason was given, no ultimatum, simply a request. With his track-record she would do as he said without a fight. 

Many hours later Meg waited in her best day dress, as requested. She messed with her hair for a while. Knowing that if she kept messing with the style, each one would be worse than the one before. She started over and swept her hair into the style she loved most with the top section tied up into a ribbon. Meg had set her hair in curls the other night for a show so her already wavy was even more textured than usual. 

She didn’t know what to do, why was she dressing up for him? Why did she bring the extra clothes he requested? Why was she there at all? She should go to her bed and stay there, but… there was something holding her there. Curiosity? Perhaps.

Meg felt the air around her shift, like she was being watched, and she knew for sure she wasn’t alone. Looking immediately to the mirror door she saw the outline of a figure she had seen months ago on the stage. Tall and so very human, a mask just like the one she brought home with her rested on the deformity she only saw a glimpse of months ago. She stood from the stool and tried to hold herself as tall as possible. 

Why did you request to see me? That's what she wanted to say, but the words never left her lips. Meg immediately cursed herself, he was already so captivating. She would do whatever he said, with hesitation, but something about him already made her make excuses for any action. 

“I wish to photograph you.” Erik spoke into the room, directly at her, almost as though she had asked the question. Perhaps she did find the words, why didn’t she noticed she actually said them? Was he really magic? Or was she as predictable as any ballet girl.

He spoke so freely and openly to her, Meg had to shake herself out of her little trance to comprehend his statement. She was of course taken aback. Photography, not necessarily a new innovation, but one it was an exciting event to be photographed. A keepsake that in turn showed wealth, or celebrity status. Meg had been photographed before for a wealthy woman wanting to capture the talent of the opera. She was one of the most important patrons, so whatever they could do for the woman, they did. So at her tender young age she posed with her friends in the corps in their ballet costumes of the season. 

“Why me?” Meg surprisingly didn’t stutter with her words. She stood next to the clothes he asked her to bring, and picked them up to rested them in her arms close to her body.  
“Come with me.” His voice stated simply that he was in no mood for games, simply business.

“Alright, Monsieur.” She replied, whispering the title. Meg knew his name. Erik. She had known his name for a while, her mother had let it slip in her rage. Madame Giry paced after Christine fled for good, and after all of the damage he had done to the opera, She cursed him and his name, then cried for pain he must be feeling, wherever he was.

The answer to her question was that he has yet to photograph a ballet dancer by profession. He had posed many subjects, any performer or prostitute as far away from the opera as possible who did exactly as he paid them to do. Photography became a quick obsession of his, and now he needed a ballet dancer to fill the biggest void in his portfolio. He avoided the subject with caution. 

Erik could have gotten a dancer far from the opera, there were many who would gladly do the job, but something nagged him to bring Meg to the depths of the opera. So he did, Erik led her down through the dark halls, and especially down the halls that were dry to protect her clearly well kept dress. 

Soon Erik led her into the house by the lake, every piece in the home that Meg had seen destroyed months before had either been repaired or replaced. Not much time had passed when they reached the home, he had everything set up waiting for their arrival. 

Meg was directed to a set like the one she’d seen years before. Instead of being in a room filled with windows and light, she was surrounded by big kerosene lamps and candles to provide as much light as possible. She wore just as he had told her, her best day dress.

She picked her favorite, a dress made of tan silk and green velvet. The green velvet made the foundation of the long sleeved bodice with a high collar. A decorated embroidered ribbon wrapped around the high collar and came across on a diagonal down the bodice until it disappeared under tan silk draped over each shoulder creating a deep V on the front and the back of the dress. The draped silk stopped over her elbow to allow the green velvet reach her wrist trimmed with the same ribbon. The same tan silk made the under skirt, to finish the ensemble, a green velvet belt covered in the ribbon sat above tan skirt and the fabric draping the bodice. To give the illusion of a dress instead of two separate pieces, more solid green velvet hung from the thick belt to created an over skirt.

She kept her long hair behind her back and held her head high as she sat on a stone bench surrounded by a large backdrop in a wood carved frame and large potted plants.

Now that she was alone with him in front of the large box on three legs. Meg, a usually confident girl, did feel incredibly odd posing for him. She did as he directed with little hesitation. With each photo she eased into the idea of being immortalized so many times. They took many photos, in many different poses until he ordered her to change to the evening gown. 

He led her to a private place to change. Thanking him Meg shed her clothes and switched the bustle cage to another one suitable for her even grander evening gown. Every ballet girl had a grand evening dress to entertain patrons with. It was convenient timing that she recently received the dress she commissioned, she actually hadn't had a chance to show the new dress off until now. 

She quietly stepped back into the room to find the backdrop was already changed to a painted image of a grand wall and marble columns, and the stone bench was changed to tall backed engraved chair. Meg wore an almost completely different style of dress with a low neckline and low shoulders, covered in an abundance lace and draped in pink silk. Of course the green ribbon was changed to a pink one to match the gown.

“Ah yes, you look lovely.” He told her after he looked up from meticulously shifting the chair by little bits back and forth, she was slightly glued to her spot by a loveseat, and blushed at the quick compliment. “Come, sit!” He motioned for her to rest on the chair. Erik was becoming more comfortable with his subject and grew more and more excited with every passing moment pouring himself into his art.

“I cannot be the first to sit for you.” His equipment and sets were just as lovely as the professional sets she had seen many years before. “Who else have you stolen the image of?” She gave him a soft smile as she grew from her shell to ask him a list of questions.

“You speak as though I am stealing your youth.”  
“Aren’t you?” A flit of a giggle followed “For personal gain. For... art.”  
“That…” He trailed on after the word distracted as he prepped the slide. “Is certainly a perplexing way to describe photography.” Erik then threw himself into his work again. Bustling and meticulously adjusting anything that didn’t give the illusion of complete perfection. 

“You never answered my question.” She piped up awkwardly from her spot. Meg noticed that whenever he would refocus himself and turn cold, she would become uneasy once again. She watched his critical eyes move over every part of the set, the camera, and her body. The bewildering thing about his focus was that Meg began to adore watching him lose himself in his work. 

“Who else have I stolen the image of?” She nodded her head in response, he watched her head shake and paused before not answering her for a few more moments while he messed with the camera. “Many people like you.” Another pause followed. “Performers... Dancers.” He added the last two words without much thought as he worked. 

“Why did you need me then? You could have found a dancer easily.” Many corps de ballet members moved on to little clubs or more scandalous pursuits when their professional ballet career was done for. He was about to take the the first picture in the new ensemble when he noticed her dresses short and low shouldered sleeve was twisted. Without a word he approached her and fixed it. His cold skin bumped her warm pink skin like little bits of snow on a barely cold enough day to snow. 

“I wanted the best.” Meg's eyes darted up to look at his face as he lifted her with his cold fingers. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened just enough for him to notice. “Don’t look so surprised.” She used her acting background to quickly cover her shock. Meg soon grew restless within her own thoughts and stood when he was done with the first portrait, and walked around the chair and held the tall pillars on either side in her hands. 

“The best?” She trailed off. “Of what?” She tried to cover what was practically begging for clarity, and of course more compliments from the infamous Opera Ghost, with a joyous voice. 

“Out of every ballet dancer I have seen, you are the shining star.” The cool tone he used almost drove her mad. “Your dancing is most memorable. You must know that.” He found her pose and slightly confused face perfect for the next shot. 

“Stay there. Do not move.” He took the picture as fast as he could. After a few variations of the standing picture she moved to the side of the chair and sat on the padded arm. She looked toward the pipe organ in the distance, the view of her face was tilted to the side. Meg eventually spoke into the awkwardness only she seemed to feel.

“What do you do with the pictures you take?” She really did wonder, were they for a personal collection?  
“I sell the best slides to artists.” Meg ruined the high quality of the next slide by moving her head to face him as he took the picture. 

“You do?” It was common for artists to take these pictures and use them for reference for their paintings. Some photos became postcards and cabinet cards. 

“Don’t worry I will let you approve them before I sell any prints.” He told her to change swiftly, Meg of course did so as quickly as she could. He started to play the violin as she went to change. Immediately she started to calm. She was nervous for the outcome of his portraits. Meg didn't want to ruin them with her own appearance. 

Meg tied her shoes, the choker she usually wore for class, and the black ribbon matching the choker around her waist with perfect care. She smoothed her skirts before returning to him with a new outlook. She no longer felt odd under his artistic guise and the box ready to take her likeness forever. When she came out he told her to be ready to stand on her toes for a long period of time.

As she held onto the back of a loveseat she stretched her toes, he changed the background and the chair was replaced with a pillar of marble. He placed a vase of roses and baby's breath then beckoned her to pose for him once again.

“What are your best selling pictures?” She stood on pointe, prepared to hold her pose for a long time. Meg crossed her wrists over her chest, her fingers delicately displayed, just as he directed. Her legs were crossed at the ankle, and she looked past the camera to the wall just left of him with a small smile. He didn’t answer her until he was done taking the first picture. She was curious, but waited patiently for him to give her an answer. 

His reply had reverted back to the short and simple answers he gave her just after they had met hours ago. 

“Ones from studies like you. In costume and rehearsals dress.”  
“So my pictures will sell well then?” Meg asked with a positive and greatly curious tone in her voice.  
“Not as well as my others, but yes?”  
“Why not?” Meg whined like the little ballet girl she truly was. 

“My dear, I sell to freelance artists and postcard publishers. I take a large array of pictures, a certain nature sells more than others.” Erik coughed after the last bit. Meg knew the real reason why Erik wouldn’t answer her, she had seen the types of pictures he was speaking of. He was avoiding a somewhat crude subject for the daughter of someone who was his savior many years ago. Meg couldn’t help but laugh.

“What, if I may ask, is the nature of these profitable photographs?” Meg finished her question in a mocking voice. Of course she was taunting Erik, she just wanted him to say it. He posed her first before answering, Erik now had his turn to be uncomfortable, under her own unforgiving lens.

Ballet girls could tease, and they were quite ruthless. It could be seen as a bad habit by Madame Giry, or anyone who wasn't a ballet brat, but none of the said-brats cared. Especially the not-so-little Little Giry anymore. The more comfortable she became the more she’d play and taunt. It was a sign of love and alliance amongst the ranks of the underpaid pretty girls in fluffy tutus. Erik gave her glare as he moved her like a doll into the next pose.

“Women, in various manners of undress.” Erik then let her go quickly, as if her skin had burnt him. She smiled to his back as he walked away from her, for some reason his answer pleased her. It shouldn’t have, any respectable woman would have gave the offender a good smack and stormed from the premise, but of course, a ballet dancer wasn't exactly a respectable profession. Meg dropped the grin and cleared her throat as he turned to her when he stepped behind the camera. 

“Don’t worry, my dear, I won’t ask you to do such a thing.” She couldn’t help but think about what a shame it was that he didn’t intend to ask her. After many more pictures in her rehearsal costume and several hours after he lead her to the house by the lake, a very tired model and exhilarated artist finished their session.

When they were done, Meg followed close to him and tried to make small conversation with little triumph as they ascended higher into the opera. They finally reached the mirror door, and Meg saw the little lamp burning dimly on her dressing table through the mirror. He opened the switch to the door and held up his hand to escort her over the frame of the mirror. 

“I trust you will forget how to reach the house by the lake.” He spoke in a voice that clearly was meant to intimidate her. Meg shrunk into herself like the ballet girl she truly was.

“Already forgotten.” Meg crossed her fingers over her heart. “I won’t visit your home without being invited.” She laid the pile of clothes in her arms on the fainting couch in the center of the room while looking straight into his eyes. Meg didn’t want to look away. After an uncomfortable cough and a nod he bid her farewell. As he stepped over the frame Meg called to him. 

“Erik?” She hadn’t called him by name yet, the look on his face was exactly as she wanted it to be. “You don’t have to go outside of the opera for subjects again.” She paused for a few moments watching the uncovered side of his face grow even more confused waiting for her to elaborate. 

“I will be your study. Any costume you wish, just leave a little request like you’ve done today.”  
“Thank you for your offer, and your time.”  
“My pleasure.” In a final attempt to escape Erik stepped quickly over the threshold, gave her another nod and sealed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Meg Giry found comfort in making sure her rooms are clean and in order. Taking her time, she put her dresses in the correct place and made sure her dressing table was in perfect order as she did each night before making her way to her bed. She left the room after locking the double doors and made her way slowly and leisurely through the halls.

 

Meg made to begin her ascent in complete happiness that she saw nobody along the way. As she came to the top of the first staircase that solace was broken. Meg heard the sound of a someone falling then a bout of loud laughter. The laughter was frightening, yet comforting. They were ballet girls. Hopefully ones not known for tattling.

 

“Cecile! Hush!” A black haired girl tried to silence her friend with little luck. Soon both girls ended up in another fit of laughter. Meg looked down the steps to see exactly as she suspected, Cecile Jammes, and her best friend Bridgette. The two were joined to the hip just as Meg and Christine once were. If there was one, there was the other. At this time the pair were clearly drunk. Before Meg could playfully-scold or ask the one more sober if they needed help, Little Jammes called out.

 

“LITTLE MEG!” A shh came from Brigette and Meg immediately. Little Cecile repeated herself in a whisper yell. “Little Meeeeeeeeeeg!” She tried to straighten up. “Come here.” Meg did just asked she asked. She knew she was going to have to help Brigette get Cecile up the stairs anyway. 

 

“Come on.” Meg grabbed Cecile's other arm and began help them make it to their room. 

“Why are you up so late?” Cecile was feigning the voice of an authority figure like a child does.

 

“I was working.” Not necessarily a lie, but mostly definitely not the whole truth. Cecile began to droop and Meg had to re-lift her before starting up another set of stairs. “Did you two just get in?” Meg asked, looking them up and down. It was far too late, she couldn’t help but be worried. They were dressed in civilian wear, a term ballet girls used to speak about clothing that wasn’t a ballet costume. 

 

“No!” Brigette beamed proudly. It was the truth. Mostly.

“If you didn’t just get in why are you alone? If you were drinking with the other girls you would be asleep on the dressing room carpet.” Meg was too quick for Brigette, and most definitely Jammes at the moment.

 

“Shh, don’t tell her!” Jammes jabbed her arm into Brigette's side to keep her from responding. Something in Meg had always refused to let herself be kept out of the loop.

 

“Tell me or I’ll tell Madame Giry.” Times like this, she truly deserved to be called ‘Little Meg.’ 

“No you wouldn’t. You love us too much.” Cecile said proudly while swaying in her spot. She fell up the stairs and giggled when she landed on her hands.

“I will if you keep carrying on like this.” Meg snapped. Both younger girls huffed as a response.

 

“We went out earlier.” Meg raised her eyebrow, a sign of annoyance they had seen before. A fair warning before she turned viperous. Cecile called out Brigette's name to yell at her for ratting them out. Brigette persisted. “We didn't want to share so we drank in the chapel when we got back.” Brigette was always the one to confess for the pair. 

 

“The chapel?! Of all places!” Meg pretended to scold them, but she soon gave it up in tired mind. “Come on, you two.” She lifted Cecile up once more and made the rest of the journey to the room the duo shared.

 

She sat them down on their respective beds and helped them take off their shoes. Not caring to help them into their nightclothes she opened the covers on their already made beds for them to lie in. Or rather that was the intention anyway. As she helped Brigette into hers first, Cecile fiddled without any luck with the buttons on her jacket.

 

Little Jammes became the whiny ballet rat that gave her the name as she whined and grunted in defeat. Turning to Cecile, Meg asked her what was the matter. 

 

“I’m hot!” She huffed and threw herself onto her back. Her feet kicked over the edge of the bed like a child. “Help me!” She lamented to anyone listening as if she was dying. Meg suppressed a laugh and decided to helped them into their night clothes. Well stripped down to their chemises and stockings. 

 

“Thank you, little Meg!” Brigette lifted her head from the pillow to call out, then she shoved her head back onto the pillow. Her black hair was sprawled over her. Meg, the residing den mother and someone who thrives off being needed, smiled and kissed their heads. She then slipped from the room and down to the faucet at the end of the hall, and filled Brigette's pitcher. She came back and filled two glasses of water for them. 

 

Meg finished her task and left for her own room at the very end of the hall. A few empty rooms were between them and her. It was a quiet room, and dark in the dead of night. Some would call it lonely since no one shared the space with her. 

 

Meg was left with a room to herself when Christine left for her own. When the Angel began speaking to her she grew distant and desired her own space, and since the corps was lacking, she was able to have a room to herself. Meg made sure no one would fill the other bed by simply removing the other. She made Christine take hers. 

 

This was a little sanctuary for the girl who rarely leaves the opera. In such a large building filled with many people at any given time. This escape was vital to Meg Giry. She was thankful she was seen only by the drunk pair Cecile and Brigette. 

 

She slept soundly, when she was finally able to lie down for the night. Soon the sun would rise and her long day of rehearsal and a show would begin. She dreaded the new day, but would truly never regret a single moment of her interaction with the Opera Ghost. A Phantom with a pension for photography! 

 

Of course Meg fell asleep with the thought of his cold fingers, like snow, on every part of her warm pink skin he touched.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Each rehearsal started the very same, stretches turned to warm-ups, warm-ups would turn to the barre. Ballet girls moved in sync as Madame Giry called out the very same moves as the day before, and the day before, and so on. It was common for the girls to clear their mind and run through the motions their body knew all too well. Meg always made sure to keep her mind from wandering, if not she would become sloppy. To her, being sloppy was a waste of time.

 

Just over half way through the daily routine, Meg was pulled out of her sleepy daze by the sharp clapping of her mother right by her head. An odd choice for the mistress, she usually smacked her cane against the floor. The clapping of her hands created a different sort of urgency. Meg had fallen out of time, her legs trailing just behind the other girls. She had even dropped her shoulders. She immediately brought her legs back up to the correct tempo and snapped up to the proper posture her mother demanded.

 

Megs cheeks glowed a bright shade of pink, showing her embarrassment. Nothing made her blush like being corrected in class. Being the daughter of the renowned Madame Giry came with a price, a certain standard must be kept. Maybe they were placed upon herself by herself, but nevertheless, she felt the shame of being corrected. 

 

Little Meg hated being corrected. Especially in public.

 

She later stood in the wings, waiting for her cue somewhere deep into the first act. From her spot Meg slipped her eyes up to box five. To a ballet rat looking at the box was certain personal sabotage. For a superstitious dancer, the fear of knowing the Phantom could be hiding in plain sight was far too frightening for a dancer to think about. So they all shied away from looking up to the pretty red-velvet box so as to not ruin their performance.

 

However Megs performance was never affected  _ negatively _ by looking to the Phantoms box. Somehow she felt power from the thought of a tough critique observing the troop, or more scandalously, just her personally. Everytime she looked up and thought about the man in a mask. A lucky superstition, her little secret.

 

After years of living in and performing on the grand Opera Populaire stage Meg knew when the Phantom was there. He was usually there, when he wasn’t it was obvious, only to a very few it seemed. Her and her mother for sure, of course her mother knew, for she  _ was _ his box keeper after all. 

 

He was there, she knew it right away. Nothing seemed to show the presence of an audience member in the box. There was always a feeling. Even patrons in surrounding boxes could tell something was different. If the spirit was pleased with an exciting move, or grand finish a clap would be heard with no official source, sometimes it sounded as though it came from across the auditorium and the box at the same time. If he was displeased, suffocating silence was louder than any clap of approval.

 

After receiving a round of applause after her feature, everyone within range heard the round of applause from the Opera Ghost. Meg blushed. She had heard the clapping before, but now that she had had personal contact with the the so called ghost, it felt more intimate somehow. What Meg didn’t know is that is was indeed more intimate. He made sure to pay attention to her. Meg lifted her body from her deep bow and smiled knowingly as she pranced from the stage.

 

* * *

 

After a few reprises of this perfectly-private yet very-public exchange, days turned into weeks before Erik approached her again. A full month passed until she received a new black-edged letter. Meg didn’t notice the note until she went to change her costume. The envelope sat discreetly on table along the wall behind a changing screen put in place so wealthy patrons could call and performers could still go through their routine. 

 

“Actually!” Meg turned around quickly to distract the dresser just behind her. “I won’t change just yet.” The dresser looked at her with a quizzical eye. “Could I be alone please?” The dresser nodded and swiftly left. Meg locked the door behind the dresser and bid her goodnight before another person, her mother in particular, could catch her with the letter. The Phantom did not have the best reputation after all. Meg quickly turned around and grabbed the thick letter. 

 

The first thing she saw were photographs. Six in total. Two of each outfit in order, each set with two completely different poses. The first of the pair in the green and tan dress was stiff, but regal. She hadn’t seen herself in this way, it was strange, but not unwelcome. Meg was much younger the first time she was lucky enough to pose. The second picture emitted the same feeling as the other.

 

Then the set in the pink evening dress. This time still regal but in a different way, she was relaxed, and more confident. The second of the set was after he complimented her. She gripped the top of the tall chair with a wondrous expression. Meg remembered how she felt then. Flattered and happy, yet scared and unbelieving. She moved onto the next set, when she did she heard the mirror door open.

 

“What do you think?” Meg looked up to him with a small smile.

“It’s hard to believe it’s me!” She walked toward him and opened the letter she had yet to read.

 

“I will come to call for you again. After the performance.” She smiled amused and folded the letter to place it back into the envelope. “Thank you for calling. What do you think of them?” She asked hopefully. “As an artist.” Meg added on.

 

“Some of my finest. Thank you.” Meh nodded with a smile. The air settled into an awkwardly thick mass. 

 

“Have a seat.” He did so and watched her with sharp eyes as she went to the stool at the dressing table. After a few moments of looking everywhere but him, she looked up to his face. Erik was looking directly at her. “Yes?” It slipped out. She had not meant to be so forward. Meg knew she would scold herself later for this response. Her hands went up to her hair. 

 

“When I left you. You said I did not have to go outside of the opera. Would you mind… Posing again?” Meg realized the ribbon holding up the top layer of her hair was beyond the point of fixing. She spun around on the spinning stool and faced the mirror, unsure as to what to say. She untied the double knot and pulled it from her hair. Shaking her head, her hair shifted in a far too pleasing manner. 

 

“Tonight?” Another thing she would later scold herself over. She watched him in the mirror then. Their eyes met, her hands pulled over the ribbon slowly then. 

 

“If you will oblige.” He said as nonchalantly as he could muster. She nodded in response and broke their eye contact. Of course he intended tonight. Erik unknowingly fixated on her hair and her well manicured fingers shifting the strands around. It shined in the light like a pearl. Erik laughed undetectably, her name was Marguerite after all. He didn’t make a habit of knowing the meanings of names, but as a man with a pension for Faust, he knew what Marguerite meant. He could also compare her to a daisy, but that wasn’t entirely fitting in this instance.

 

Erik recentered his thoughts on the present as he watched her manicured hands pull the loops of the pink ribbon taught. 

 

A ribbon. Something so incredibly Meg Giry. A signature some would consider childish for a girl of twenty to wear in the fashion she did. At a certain age, young ladies took their long hair and swept their tresses into lovely updos. A woman of great reputation would not leave the house with their hair down. Little Giry was stubborn and prefered her hair down, and did so unless she was absolutely forced. Many also agreed that the style suited her the best. She wasn’t the same when all of her hair is swept up.

 

Fluffing and smoothing her hair once more, she stood up from the spinning stool. Meg looked down at Erik with a soft look on her face as she waited for him to move.

 

“Excuse me?” Erik was confused. What did he do now? He looked at her with confusion to what she meant.

“You’re sitting on my gaiters.” She offered as her explanation. La Sorelli strictly enforced the absolute necessity of the little garments. Now Meg carried the same love. Erik jumped up from his spot with an apology. Meg picked up the gaiters and took the spot he was sitting in to put them on.

 

“In this costume?” He watched her slip on the gaiter onto her first pointed foot. She looked up through her hair to look at him.

“Yes.” She stifled an excited smile and slipped on the other shoe cover. Meg did not think to actually change her shoes for the journey that would for sure softening them. She’d later sadly realize. Erik offered her his hand to start the journey. Meg took it with little hesitation and a smile. 

 

Once through the mirror, Erik walked less than a step ahead of her as he led her down into the depths of the operas cellars to his studio once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Later Eriks tall form leaned over, staring at the box on three legs. Meg Giry was forced to stand with her leg in the air. A feat for any experienced dancer to do for as long as it took to set up for another picture and actually take the picture. It was not usual to hold such poses on stage, and very rarely in rehearsal. Of course it was never that long. Meg secretly cursed Erik’s meticulous scrutiny at this time. It made a the long process even longer. 

She persisted nonetheless. This was art. His art. Erik was very clearly in love with it, and was very prideful of his work. As he should be. Everything he created was pure art. Meg kept her thoughts away from the pain of the position and began to think of his art. His magnum opus came to mind. It was undeniably beautiful. 

Meg had lost herself while thinking about Don Juan Triumphant, when Erik had mercifully let her relax. She embraced the role of the fairy in front of the camera like she did on stage. It was a long, white, and fluffy dress with little wings attached to the bodice. They were stiffened with wires. Meg had even helped sew them in. 

She had taken to helping the costume department regularly. There was always at least one costume in a show that Meg was in charge of. It could be one every ballet girl got, or two costumes for background ensemble members. Sometimes she’d design them, sometimes she would just bring them to life. 

“You can rest.” She lowered her leg with a relieved sigh. A small part of her got nervous from doing so. Madame Giry always was incredibly annoyed by whiners. If she was nearby and you whined, you’d get something much worse to do. She remembered where she was and who wasn’t there, and relaxed. Meg waited for directions as she stretched her limbs. 

Erik directed her, and she followed like the ballet-chorus girl she was. It felt almost like class. Comfortable. She watched him fix a plant by her foot. It was a little dismaying. The thought of being so close to the Phantom actually used to frighten and thrill her. Now she was thrilled, but not in fear. Something like, magnetism. Or maybe just curiosity. 

Meg had always been curious, and there was a certain exhilaration that came with watching, and solving problems. Erik was someone who confused Meg. Just months ago he was obsessed with music and Christine Daae's love. Now his mind turned to a camera. Art of a new kind.

She had to admit. The little sets and costumes made her feel elegant, She would admit. As did the fact that she was the mostly the center of attention. Meg had an odd relationship with being in the limelight. At times it’s what she wanted, then others, she’d want the whole world to look away. Maybe it was for who was watching. For strangers, she wanted them to love her, on stage and off. For fellow actors and dancers, it did feel odd at times. For Erik, she wanted him to pay attention to her.

It had always been that way. Ever since she could recognize the feeling of his presence and his eyes while on stage. She couldn’t explain it. Even though she was right in front of him, she felt like Erik was ignoring her. Maybe it was for art. She was just a model after all. Meg hadn’t complained or huffed out loud to him yet. So she became his favorite model by far.

Meg looked down as she flexed and moved her ankles. Erik watched the shoe that was a now a perfect extension of her foot. He caught the sight while planning what he’d have her to do next. Becoming entranced he had completely forgotten the idea he thought of while she was on stage that night. Meg had caught sight of a displaced ribbon poking out and bent down to tuck it back in. The graceful bend at the waist did nothing to shake him from the trance. 

He forced himself to move once he realized he wasn’t. An act of defiance. Erik refused to act like this again. He forced himself to return to an unfeeling director rather than a burning artist. Meg finished tucking in the little string in between ribbons and stood up. She kept her eyes closed on the way up from fatigue and stretched her now interlocked fingers to magnificent ceiling. Humming in delight she seperated her hands and began to drop her arms by her sides like feathers. 

Her little right-hand made it a few inches until she was stopped. Erik’s hand enclasped Megs to keep her from going any further. Her still closed eyes widened in shock. She hadn't even noticed him take any semblance of a step toward her. Meg dropped her left hand to the pillar as she turned to look at their now touching hands. He moved her fingers.

“Like that. More delicate. Like you would for the stage.” She understood what he meant. Meg picked up her hand slightly and brought it down just a bit to rest over his hand in soft position. He stepped away just as her hand was perfect. Meg’s tense body softened as well. She hadn't even noticed her shoulders were high. Dropping them, Meg took a deep breath. He walked around the pillar with the very same stare and intensity that made her willing to do anything he asked during the first session. 

He stepped closer again and tapped the fingers resting on the pillar. They were gripping the marble edge in an unnatural way. She corrected it by softening her hand like she did the other. Erik walked to stand in front of her. He had given up on directions. This image in his head was to exact. He could only show her. So Erik began to pose her like doll she looked and felt like. 

“You can rest.” He decided to remove the pillar. She did and he disappeared into a room she assumed was a room for props. Erik and brought back this long, stone looking fence she could lean upon. “Lay your dress over the back” Meg messed with the layers, trying to find the end. He picked up the back for her and laid it over the stone fence. It was a way to show off the full skirt. With a look of embarrassment, she thanked him. “Cross your feet.” Meg obeyed and pointed her toes before leaning back on the fence. It was at a perfect height that she didn’t have to strain to stay on her toes as he meticulously posed her. She watched his hands take her waist and tilt her position just slightly. 

Erik picked up his hands from her quickly once he realized exactly what he was doing and what boundaries he overstepped. She searched his face for something that she did wrong. Meg did not mind his posing, she was just surprised. It was something she could get used to. 

“Forgive me. I was not thinking clearly.” He apologized deeply.   
“You must not apologize.” Erik looked at her oddly in response. “If it is easier to pose me. I do not mind. I want you to achieve the look you desire.” Meg responded making sure to be even more gentle than she naturally was. To keep the air from thickening to an uncomfortable mass began to tilt her chin slowly in different directions 

“Where should I look?” Her questioning eyes looked like a little doe. Erik hesitantly took hold of her chin and tilted her head to look off into the distance. He lifted her arms and hands into a very similar position to the one before he changed his mind. When Erik was satisfied he went back to the camera quickly to immortalize the shot.   
\-----------------------------------------

Erik began to take her up to her dressing room much earlier than he had the first time. She walked by his side, barely keeping up. Her legs were so petite compared to his. Once out of the many turns, when the passage became a straight shot, he slowed down. Erik kept a fast pace so she would have less of a chance to memorize how to get to the house by the lake. 

“What do you have planned for the next costume?” She asked once they returned to the dressing room.  
“I am afraid I am at a loss.” He paused. Pondering what information he should give her. “I can’t seem to find costume in this house that would suit you very well in any of the storage rooms. I know they exist, you wear them on stage often.” Meg laughed in response. 

“That is because you are not looking in the right place.” She smiled smugly. Little Giry knew a secret that the Phantom didn’t! 

“You know Madame Segal of course.” Meg began to tell him. He nodded. “Well we have an agreement. Since I help design and repair so many costumes. She puts any retired costume of my size, or anything I might like repair for my own use in that little storage room. Number thirty-seven. No one thinks to look there.” Meg smiled in at the thought of the little room filled with frills. “If you would like we can look together when you’re ready for another session.” 

“I will keep that in mind.”


	5. Chapter 5

Just a few weeks went by until Erik called to see Meg again. This time it was on a day where she did not have a show. Simply a dress rehearsal. She sat waiting outside of the little storage room. Meg wore one of the rehearsal gowns she frequented. She learned from experience that wearing civilian dress in the little storage room hard to move around.

She sat with her legs stretched out in front in her, ankles crossed at the feet. This time she didn’t wear her ballet shoes. Just the slippers that had never touched ground outside of the Opera Populaire's walls. A sweater was wrapped around her so as to not fall off. She almost fell asleep waiting for Erik. He wasn’t late. She was just early. As if he was waiting around the corner with a pocket watch, Meg was stirred out of her half sleep by the sound of his footsteps.

The Opera Ghost became, daring when it came to walking the halls around the Populaire. He make his steps noticeable at times to frighten wandering ballet girls and stagehands. Now Meg wasn’t wandering but she was a ballet girl. She watched him walk down the hall but didn’t stand up. It was as if she should hide. Like she shouldn’t be seeing him.

When he stood toe-to-base with the lantern to her right, he stretched out a hand to help her up. She shook her head to clear her mind of the fog he created.

“I will admit, I haven’t looked inside in quite some time. So I have very little idea as to what we’ll find.” She said after she stood up. Meg looked up from her skirts after she smoothed them. “What do you think?”

“I do not know what to expect either.”

“Only one way to find out.” Erik opened the door and Meg bent down to grab the lamp that at sat at their feet. She had found that after years of walking the opera that candles were not reliable as a light source. Erik motioned for her to walk in first. Meg made the light of the lamp stronger as she walked in. There was a shelf she sat it upon every time she came to the room to look. She did exactly that. The room was duster than the last time.

The room was dark besides the lamp. Racks hung with an abundance of mens costumes of obscure kinds. Mens costumes were easy to reuse, but there were cases that some costumes didn’t fit many operas. So they ended up in that storage room. To wither away. To maybe be brought back again. Meg took a few steps in toward a trunk against the back wall.

The door clicked as it closed and Meg turned to it with a small gasp. It was frightening. To be so close to the opera ghost. In a fashion that would alarm anyone, especially one with high moral standing. Which in their defense wasn’t common in an opera house. The only reason Madame Giry was strict with wanton ballet girls is because it’s much easier to scare a dancer into staying chaste than it is to bring in new dancers and train them.

Meg continued to this corner of the room that held the garments in between mens costumes. She started to go though the rack. One costume for a man from Béatrice et Bénédict. Then a costume left for her from Don Carlos. Another one for a man from Faust. Meg had a knack for knowing that costume belonged to what show, and what other show it was used in. She would pause and think about it with each garment. Though she did try to hurry for Eriks sake.

Rows of shelves were above their heads. Erik went through picking up hats, belts, and other props. In this small room filled with silence and enclosed in fabric, Meg was very aware of Erik’s movements. She forced herself to forget him. As she looked again. Maybe she would rethink a costume. Turning her body, she scanned each garment again. Halfway through the rack is when she noticed fur and looped cording.

It was a riding habit from a show about stylish and important women going to war. Royal scandal was included of course. What set this habit apart from the rest was the fact that the blouse was modeled after a French Hussar. Two columns of white braided cords interlocked and looped over each other in Austrian knots on both sides of the Dolman. The fur that caught her eye was attached to a pelisse. It was decorated with even more cording and gold buttons. The entire ensemble was attached to the same light blue fabric that was commonly seen on many ranks of Hussar.

Meg called Erik to look at it. She stared at him with wide, excited eyes.

“Any ideas?” He thought for a moment.

“A few.” Erik felt the jacket. “This is much more than I expected to find. Lucky us!” It was his turn to be excited. Ideas for sets and poses began to come to his mind It pleased Meg to see him so happy. She like very much to make him happy. She realized this as she pulled the ensemble out and hung it somewhere more accessible.

He had taken to scanning the shelf above where the costume was found and saw another piece. It was a tall hat with a little visor and a metal, mock-emblem for a false European countries military. When Meg was back by his side, trying to see what he was doing, he turned and placed the hat on her head. Humming to himself he deemed it usable. Maybe not for every picture, but it would probably make an appearance in a few.

Checking the shelf again, Erik saw a highly decorative walking flagpole with wrapped around it. He easily grabbed the pole that stood at his tall height. Erik unwrapped the flag that was already doing that by itself. Just then something else caught Megs eye again. The first time she ignored it, deeming to look at it later.

The flag was nothing like the one of France. Dark blue with one large green stripe and one yellow stripe going across it horizontally. Nothing like any flag he had seen before. It was clearly for the made up country in the show the hussar was from. Erik took the flag by the top left corner and pulled it from the pole. Meg turned her head to look quickly before carrying on. ‘Unnecessary.’ he thought. He turned to ask her something but stopped as the air was filled with the sound of swooping metal.

A sword had caught Megs eye. She was looking it up in down with the point high. He had originally thought to ask her to make a new flag for the hussar riding suit, but the sword stirred a new image.

“A wonderful Jeanne.” He thought out loud by accident. Meg looked away from the sword and back to him.

“D’Arc?” Joan of Arc. A fifteenth century martyr burned at the stake. It was a story young ladies were so interested to hear. Her death always made them sad.

“Yes. I think that would be quite interesting.” He paused. “Though with a different sword.” He took the somewhat simple weapon from her a set it down.

“Am I to wear armor?” Every piece of art depicting her that Meg had seen before, depicted Joan with armor. So far, all of her ensemble had been provided by her. What would they do now? Surely he provided his other models with costumes.

“I suppose.”  
“Where does one... find armor?” The style of military protection had fallen out of style quite some time ago.

“Leave it to me.” Meg nodded, confused as to what kind of connection he’d have to have to be able to acquire such an item. They gathered the items and made their way to her dressing room to talk and separate.

* * *

 

“Would you like to sew the flag?” Erik asked Meg as she locked the door of the dressing room. “You could make it into anything that says Jeanne to you.”

“Really?” Her love of sewing and remaking costumes wasn’t a secret. Especially after the time she spent with Madame Segal in the workshop after Christine left. “Yes I would. Thank you!” Meg appreciated the gesture very much. Erik could have had anyone do it. Or forced her. Or even have done it himself. Nonetheless. She was excited to work on it.

When she asked for a deadline, he kept it loose, declaring that they would not be able to meet for that session in a while. They said a cordial goodnight and Meg went to leave for her room upstairs.

“You have been proving to be wonderful muse, Mademoiselle Marguerite.” a flattering blush crept to her cheeks. Muse. She couldn’t believe she was actually a muse. As an artist of dance and song. To be called a muse was a very high form of flattery. At least to her.

“That is very kind, Monsieur.” She said keeping her head down. Both hiding her blush and her happiness. Thinking of her and every idea she gave him for his art made him bolder then.

“My little muse, that is what you are. And that is what you are to be called, Marguerite.” He now stood in front of her by the door. Meg turns her head up all of the way to see half of his broad smile. “My little muse.” She just couldn’t help but be enthralled by this show of light and affection. Her now incredibly red cheeks and smile matching his only sent more images and ideas into his head.

“There you go once more. Another idea. I must go before I ask you downstairs.” Meg made to respond. A yes of course. “Ah-ah!” He stopped her, then grabbed her hand. “My muse needs her rest. It is quite late.” That was a fact she couldn’t deny. She wouldn’t mind losing the sleep too much, she had to admit. Erik kissed her hand and bid her a good night, then left for the mirror. Leaving a stunned and happily blushing Meg to dreamily go off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

“How have you been spending your time lately, Meg?” Cecile asked from the barre while Meg was on the floor. Meg had been so quiet since Christine left. Though she would always talk when spoken to. It was also apparent that she was lonely at times. When you got her started, she could spill any thought in her head. This topic however. Was off limits.

Meg was protective over her time with Erik. Not that she was afraid of being caught. She just didn’t want others to ruin it with questions or by stopping them. She was especially weary of her mother at the moment. Simply because she had no idea just how her mother would react. Of course she wouldn’t be happy. 

“There is nothing to say. I’ve been incredibly boring.” Besides her sessions with Erik, she had to admit that it was true.  
“How boring could you be, Meg. We’ve never known you to be boring.” Brigette did like to flatter her friends. Meg looked up from her legs and smiled sweetly.

“That’s very sweet, Brigette. But it is true. I really only talk to you two, and you know very well how scarce that’s been.” There was a certain timid poise Meg now possessed. She was no longer loud and obnoxious at the wrong times. No longer did she scream the Phantoms name. Everyday she grew closer to becoming the graceful Prima everyone expects her to be. 

She hadn’t even seen Erik for just over a month. Her life, for the most part, was little boring to the outside eye. Though in her own life, in her own room. She was perfectly content. Meg did try to not become too enthralled by the prospects of being the muse again. 

He could never ask her again. That would hurt, she just knew it. Though as time stretched on Meg knew not to worry much. He seemed to wait over a month to call upon her each time. This time was no different. Meg made her way into her dressing room. As she came into the room, the air felt like him. She looked around for a letter. 

Almost as if Erik circled the day after one month, Meg found the black edged letter. Like clockwork, she thought. The letter was a request to see her that night. Thankfully he seemed to coincide with her rehearsal-only days.

The letters never requested her presence soon after she received them. Now at only mid afternoon, she would have to wait. This time the letter requested her wear the riding suit. This allowing her to be dressed completely before making the trek again in her slippers and civilian opera dress. She was able to keep it these weeks to insure that it didn’t have to be altered. Thankfully it didn’t, except for some loose cording. She was even able to wash it.

Meg disappeared up to her room before anyone could stop her and napped till the ballet girls dinner time. She was lighter that night at dinner. Though she didn’t notice it herself. Cecile and Brigette did as she walked into the hall. It was nice for the table to hear her voice. It had been so sparse in the last months. 

Just like the first time, she sat in front of her dressing table messing with her hair. This time she did succeed in putting it up into what was fashionable for the time. Though it was missing something. Then Meg remembered. She almost scolded herself for forgetting the little hat. The one she wore at that grand masquerade the year before, the one that struck utter horror back into the life of Paris. 

Meg had worn a costume alluding to a riding habit. She had worn a Justaucorps and other frilly accouterments to complete her look. At the very tip top was a black riding hat, complete with the long vail down her back. Meg hadn’t remembered before now, so the pink ribbon still was attached. Meg quickly undid the ribbon and replaced it with a black one. When she was done she took the point of the hat and placed it right on her widows peak. A trait she received from her mother. 

Meg made sure her hair was perfectly in place before sticking a hat pin through the fabric and her own hair. Now for the bodice of suit. This is what created the image of a Hussar. She took her time buttoning the black metal buttons. The pitch braiding looped around and around. This left her with the very last step. Gloves. She waited however to keep fiddling with her hair, then her makeup, and then her clothes. 

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed right on the hour. This made her freeze for a few moments. It was time. She forced herself to continue. The ever punctual Erik opened the mirror door just a few moments later. This stopped her completely. 

“Exactly as I’ve imagined.” He then continued to greet her with a triumphant smile. She stood with a smile as well. Meg was pleased that he was pleased. Through this happiness Meg spun around with her own prideful smile. 

“No, you look even better than I imagined.” She thanked him with a blush. He then lifted his arm to escort her down. Meg grabbed a few things any lady leaving the house required. Gloves. In this case black leather. She put them on as quickly as possible. Then she grabbed a parasol and a fan. Finally she was ready. With the parasol and fan straps on her arm she put her arm around his. 

Something about this image was pleasant to Erik. It was as if someone had taken the typical image of a pretty woman leaving with a man to take a ride on a Sunday and laid it in front of him. A cruel joke perhaps? She looked delighted, and he escorted her by the arm as if he was to take her to a horse. If only he still had Caesar. Maybe Eriks mind was softening, because his mind allowed him to indulge in the image a little longer. A former self would have thrown a fit there and then. 

“Have you been keeping yourself busy?” Meg asked, breaking a short stretch of silence on their slow walk arm in arm down the staircases and halls. They had been talking lightly, and he inquired after her. Erik simply responded with a simple yes. “And out of trouble?” A perfectly valid question. He could be the most wretched of men. 

Erik could truthfully say he has kept himself out of trouble. So he did, and quite pridefully too. She couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. A Phantom. A trickster. Being good? Unlikely. Though she was… proud of him for being better. If he wasn’t lying to her. Had Erik lied to her? Perhaps before. He did skirt around the subject of the models who would strip for him. 

Meg grew red at the idea and thanked her timing for not letting her think of this while under his scrutiny. Now if you knew Megs mind a few months ago you’d know that she did not blush at the thought of posing scantily clad. She blushed because she did not oppose. Some would consider that quiet tawdry. Though it seemed no such occasion would arise. 

“Where did you find that hat, Mademoiselle Giry?” They were closer to the house by the lake now. Erik asked when he came the doors down the long hallway instead of by the lake. 

“I didn’t find it. It was apart of my costume, from the last masquerade.” Erik cleared his throat. The masquerade. The one he ruined. 

“Do you have a pension for riding suits, dear Marguerite?” He asked this to regain somewhat of an upper-hand. Meg was struck oddly by this. She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. She simply stated why she had the hat. Then he said Marguerite. Of course he had called her Marguerite before. Somehow it was different. He said it with so much light. It struck her every time. Especially since he usually said it in a playful manner.

Marguerite loved his passion. He was a man who was undeniably French. Lush and cruel. Extravagant and subtle. Every time Erik became enthralled by his work he seemed transcendent. Meg cherished every moment that she could help him create. He was just so good at it. 

She walked by the set that was already made, setting the fan and parasol on a table not far away. Erik lit the kerosene lamps to make the room bright enough. Deciding to be useful she did the extra candles. 

They ran through many combinations of accessories and poses. Erik had even brought out a tall mid-forearm height cane. It made her feel like her mother. Which didn’t happen often. But her mother was powerful, so she felt powerful. Meg had become more confident with every session. She had to admit she felt like a glamorous minx. Little smirks at the camera made her feel even more powerful at times. 

“Do you mind rifles?” Meg thought for a moment.  
“I know nothing of them, Erik.” He nodded and offered for her to take a seat  
on the love-seat not far away. Then disappeared down the hall that ran parallel to the double doors down the hall. Meg was a dancer. Standing for long stretches of time did bother her in rehearsal, but standing for portraits was different because she had to hold herself still. So Meg was thankful for the moment. 

The feeling of his physical absence was surreal. His presence didn’t leave. Erik was still overwhelmingly, there. Yet absent. Erik was a man of walking contradictions. The house was silent except for the fire he had lit in the beginning. The candle next to her head crackle soundly now. Meg never found herself alone in another's home like this. Especially in a home of one she didn’t know very well.

Meg looked at walls and their decorations. Back and forth. Back and forth. A crackle of a candle would draw her eye to it. Then a crackle in the fireplace. She found herself nervous. Though as the moments passed she did relax. Meg took a long sip of the wine he always had for her. She finished the little glass quickly. He was away for too long. Maybe it was only a few moments, but it felt like so much longer.

Meg's eyes finally found iridescent black and white keys. They beckoned to her, and so she followed. Still alone. A piece of music rested soundly with no cover page. Art covered the walls. Some in frames. Some clearly drawn by him. They were exquisite, like him. Hers eyes scanned the first staff. One flat in the key. The first note was a B, B flat to be exact. Her right index lingered over the key. Just resting. 

Erik walked into the room without her noticing. His steps weren’t light. Either she didn’t notice, or she ignored him. So he walked to rest the rifle on the end table. Then he stood, in trance comparable to Megs. She stood looking down as the keys moved up and up to the right. Never pressing hard enough to make a sound. Then she’d look to the left, down and down. Her finger never left the key. 

As the silence overpowered her, her eyes grew heavy, as if she was putting herself into a trance. Erik stared at the way her head moved, the fabric of the suits collar, her neck. A new sight for him, her neck. Her hair was almost always down in all the times he’d seen her. He followed the slope of her shoulder down to her right hand. Her body slightly swayed. She never pressed it. 

Until she did. The key was simple, yet on that instrument it was perfect. Though it was only one note, it was struck under his influence. His music. Striking indeed. The note lingered heavy in the air. Sounding so rich and comforting. 

“Brava.” He was congratulating her for one note. It fascinated him to see her do it. As the word started to leave his mouth Meg spun around quickly. The skirt of her heavy dress twisting as she did. She hid her right hand behind her back as if she were holding something she shouldn’t be touching. 

Meg looked to his face to apologize and found no annoyance or anger there. He seemed amused, either by the note or her apologetic nature. 

“Try it again.” Erik urged her. 

“I really don’t think... ” She tried to protest but stopped herself. Then she laughed a little and turned around. Meg hit the key again and stretched her head around to him. “How is that?” Erik was walking even closer now. She looked back at the keys. Her finger moved to the next key left. The A. 

“Simply divine.” He now stood over her right shoulder. Close enough to move her skirt. Erik came even close as he reached around her to grab the corner of the sheet music. Meg was comfortable enough with him now to not care for social conventions. She didn’t even curl her shoulder at his advance. 

“You really think so?” She knew he was of course teasing her. Why would he ever call three simple notes divine. Who was Meg kidding? He could recreate the same notes, to the exact length, and they would indeed be divine. Erik took his time responding. Not out of carelessness, but because he was entranced yet again. This time by her earring. A simple shiny piece. He looked at her chin then, following the invisible line to the air and back to the music. 

“Of course.” Meg looked up to him, her smile sweet and dazzling. Shocked to find his eyes trained on her face. They held each others eyes for a while. Both silent. Months ago Meg would have been terrified to be so close. In all the time they spent together, she felt like their connection was solid. Not only was Meg under a watchful eye, Erik as well. As he watched and meticulously posed her, Meg would watch him.

The way visible eyebrow moved while working through a clouded image in his head. The way his cheek blushed without his notice after he touched her. The clench of his strong jaw when he was frustrated. Something Meg cherished was that he was never frustrated with her. That was something she expected. He would scrutinize actors and tear them apart for not being perfect. But she was never torn apart under his gaze. He was well studied. Though their words were sparse, Meg felt that she really truly new him. The Phantom. Erik.

On the opposite side of the coin, Erik felt that he truly knew Meg. Not from seeing her with Christine, or standing by her mother. He never took the time to notice and learn. He knew the way she radiated grace with every movement. The way she would roll up onto her toes and hold a pose for him without a single complaint. The way she wouldn’t collapse after he told her to relax, she’d roll back down until her heels touched the floor. The way she would keep her limbs able by stepping around the set as he prepared for the next direction. 

He appreciated her, for she trusted him. She showed this in the way that she would take a direction without resisting. The way her eyes would would implore him for help. The way she seemed delighted when he called her Marguerite. Meg not only listened to him and wasn’t afraid of trusting his directions. She let him touch her. Be near to her. This was something Erik cherished in Meg. For he was not given the luxury with other women. 

Erik moved his eyes first. Over her hair. Her pretty golden hair, swept up and covered by the hat. She was fashionable. But it wasn’t Marguerite. It took her a few moments to realize he stayed on her hair. Her eyes had run over the mask and it’s curves. She grew afraid that something was out of sort. Meg moved her left hand up to her hair.

“What is the matter?” Meg Giry was starting to grow hot. Had the mistake been there the whole time?  
“You look wonderful.” This response only made her more confused. Her eyes implored him as usual. Erik spared her then.

“Do you mind taking down your hair?” Meg couldn’t help but be a little disappointed in the request. She had done it to suit the suit. Hoping that he’d be pleased. He noticed this change in her. It was so subtle, if he hadn’t studied her so much, he wouldn’t have noticed. “Your hair is too lovely to be hidden.” Erik watched her face brighten again. 

“It is?” They we’re still so close. Her eyes implored him again. Meg had to admit that in her confusion she did wish for him to compliment her again. She loved his eyes. Even when they scanned over her looking for fault. Little did she know that Erik looked with such a critical eye to make sure that he did his model, no Meg Giry, justice.

“The loveliest.” She melted for him. If it was for any other man she would have scolded herself for not putting up any defenses. He was too special not to give pure emotion and thought to. So she willingly let herself. Meg nodded her head with a smile and lovely blush. Then she reached up to take out the pin that stuck though the hat. 

He laid out his hand to hold the pin for her, she could continue. Meg rested the jeweled pin on his hand, then lifted the hat from her head. Then handed it to him as well. Two combs kept her hair up, then a multitude of pins kept the up-do in place. As she removed them, Erik couldn’t help but revel in the domesticity of this action as well. Like a wife would let down her hair to prepare for bed. Or to redress it. 

Once the tresses were free of metal, she shook her blonde curls out. Meg held onto one of the combs. Prepared to use it in place of her usual ribbon.

“I should look in the mirror for this.” She laughed softly and made her way to the mirror in the room he always let her change in. Meg was happy to find the lamps lit already on the dressing table. She swooped the very top of her hair, even less than usual, up and into a little roll of hair to secure with the comb. When she was done she fluffed and messed with her hair.

Then she called out to him. He still had her hat and pins. A part of her had assumed that he would follow her. 

He appeared at the door with them still in hand. When she had walked away he was frozen. Everything that had happened in those few minutes were so, developmental for their relationship. She walked up to him and took the items. Laying the pins on the table she kept hold of the hat and held it just over her hair. Then looked toward him with a questionative look.

“If I am to be holding a rifle, I am still outdoors. Shall I still wear the hat? At least for the ones with the rifle.” He smiled at her input. Whenever she have an idea, or logical reason for an action or pose, he was delighted. 

“I’d like that.” Erik assured her. “Good thinking, Mademoiselle.” He was pleased. Erik hadn’t the intention of asking her to take down her hair that night. It was impulsive. Meg smiled triumphantly and worked on situating the hat on her head. 

“How do I look?” Meg posed and turned her head while waiting for his response. Dare he say divine once more?  
“It’s perfect.”  
“And how am I to pose… with the rifle?” He assured her that he’d show her and she followed him out of the room and to the little set once more. 

The rifle sat on a table nearby. Meg stood straight and un-posed in front of the camera waiting for direction. Their close proximity in front of the piano had created a shift in the air. It felt even more intimate. Lingering. Like something unresolved hung in the air. This feeling did not go away as they walked around the home. It felt, stronger in a way. Like they were connected by invisible ribbons. 

“Please do not be afraid, Marguerite. The weapon is not loaded. We will take a few and I will put it away. Alright?” He did this to make sure would not be afraid of him, or the weapon. The very last thing he wanted was for her to be uncomfortable. Especially since she posed for him so willingly. She was his favorite model and he wanted to protect her.

Meg nodded her head, surprisingly calm for one who had never touched a weapon of this caliber. Even if it wasn’t loaded. She trusted Erik. The set was like she was in the woods. Making sense of the riding habit that doubled as a hunting suit. The weapon also hearkened to the theme of the Hussar.

He directed her which direction to place her feat and then left her to grab the rifle. Erik came back and lifted it over her head and brought his arms down to the exact place and angle he wanted her to hold it and asked her to take his place with her hands. She did so. A bit awkwardly. 

Erik let it go completely and walked to stand and front of her and move her then. She looked slightly, uncomfortable and confused. Meg couldn’t help it, she didn’t possess this skill. Turning a harsh weapon into art was her challenge. A Challenge she worked with Erik to make graceful and beautiful. This was a perfect example of how Meg adored his patience with her. 

She was almost there, but something was still off. Erik went back around her to stand behind her. His hands were on hers this time instead of on the rifle. Once Megs left hand was as his vision wanted, he switched his attention to her right hand. This one was holding the barrel. 

He moved her fingers and kept a steady hand on her left at the same time. Meg watched Erik’s fingers move over hers. She didn’t want him to stop. As of her trance was noticed, Erik’s fingers started to move slower and slower. Coming to a stop. His solid arms held her. Her back was flush to his chest. They stood this way for a few moments. Erik smelled like a proper home. So inviting, rich, and comforting.

Meg moved first. She turned her head in the same manner she did earlier, as they stood at the piano. His head was up and over her right shoulder. Her heavy lidded eyes met his. Their faces closer than the first time. His hold around her grew tighter as he folded his arms, effectively bringing the rifle closer to her chest.

Without a single thought Erik kissed her. He gave himself no time to persuade himself not to. Meg's body immediately melted, She relaxed onto his chest even more than before. Erik’s hands still covered hers. They were clutching and protective. His mind immediately cleared. Thousands of thoughts and ideas slowed to focus on only one thing. Meg Giry.

Meg Giry enjoyed every little moment. She stood debating whether to stay put, letting him keeping her at an odd angle. Or to turn around and throw her arms around him, showing him that she was his. Completely. Though her mind didn’t let her debate too much. Her mind went quickly from blank, thinking only of his secure presence against her, to racing. Though the blank state overpowered her every time. She let him dominate her easily. It was her body's first response, and giving in was all that she wanted. Something about him was wonderful.

He let go of her hands, and placed his right on her chin. Megs hands slowly lowered the rifle. Erik reluctantly pulled away once his mind let him. Her lips followed him before stopping. He watched her face. Watching her breathing, watching her closed eyes. The heavy lids opened to search his face, a little smile graced her pretty face. He stepped away from her. An absence was already creeping over her.

“Forgive me, Marguerite.”   
“There is nothing to forgive.” She was breathless and her words were soft.   
“I shouldn’t have touched you, forgive me please. I should have asked.” Meg lightly shook her head, telling him no. “I have taken liberties before-” She cut him off.

“If I didn’t want you to touch me you would know it.” That was a simple fact. Meg Giry could, and would, hold her own against anyone who tried to cross any boundary. Verbal or physical. Erik was stunned to say the least. He stood with his back to her now. The words repeated in his mind a few times. 

“Erik?” It wasn’t so hard to bring him back to her.   
“You did not fight me.” He turned he head back to her, but not enough to see her. His brow was knitted. That mind of his refused to let him believe what this entailed.

“No I didn’t.” Should she have? Would that have made this easier? Was her confession damning? She watched him grow pensive. Megs gentleness was almost killer to him at this moment. His advancements had never been wanted. What was he to do? Silence crept over the room again “And as of this moment I don’t intend to ever do so.”

“That could change.” Of course they very well could. Erik turned to face her. His face hardening, his jaw clenching. “We should continue. It’s late.” She set herself into stone. Just like him. Following his direction to re-lift the rifle. Her fun-loving smile returned to her face and they finished the session as if nothing had happened.

Meg Giry was an actress, and she would be damned to lose her position.


	7. Chapter 7

Like clockwork she was in the house by the lake again. This time not in the riding suit, or the armor like Joan of Arc. She stood in front of the mirror in the room with the Louis-Philippe dresser. By some striking idea of his, Meg Giry stood in a recreation of an ancient Grecian dress she’d seen in art. The reason was not unknown to her. The dress pointed to a deity.

When they entered the house, the set was filled to the brim with flowers. Bunches and bunches of flowers placed on tables and lifts all around a fainting couch. Mostly roses in many shades. The flowers pointed to a goddess of nature.

She had put the garment on per instructions. Though she had worn something like this in a show once. It was all done up but something was wrong. The underpinnings. She wore the necessary chemise, bloomers, corset, and stockings as any woman would. Simply because he didn’t tell her any different. Though she felt foolish, of course it wouldn’t look right. So she stripped it off.

Everything but stockings came off. This was a personal decision as a dancer. Maybe she also wanted him to ask her to take them off. It was strange, Meg had assumed that she would be in shambles entering the house again. It was easy to put her feelings away while she was upstairs. But in his home, he was everywhere. The stockings weren’t exactly a problem since the chiton went to the floor. They could only be seen if she stepped out enough.

The way it was folded and cut had a large slit on both sides of of her body. It wasn’t noticeable above where the belt would be tied. Her shoulders were visible through the way it was tied. Each loop was tied with cord like the belt. Thankfully the cloth was thick enough for her to not need the chemise or corset.

Erik knocked on the door, asking if she was decent. She tied the cord around her waist snugly as he did. Meg allowed him to enter. In his hand were roses that were a light pink just like the chiton. He asked her to sit. It was a crown of roses.

“You look wonderful.” Meg was asked him to wait to finish her hair. Brigette had put extra curls in her hair when Meg was last with her. She had practically pounced on Meg with a hug when she asked. Brigette was practically bouncing off the walls in excitement. She loved sitting in the ballet girls dressing room, drinking wine, and spending time with her friends.

Meg brushed the ends to make them puffier and took out her ribbon. When she was done he placed her crown on her head. He stepped away and made conversation as she stuck pins through the crown. When she was ready they walked out to the little set that appeared against the wall to the right just as you leave the hall and she sat among the flowers and herbs.

“Are you familiar with Greek mythology, Marguerite.” She was in fact, Meg loved books. When she was twelve she went through a phase of reading books on myths. The stories of Hades and Persephone were a particular love of hers. She was posing as Persephone.

“A little.” Meg knew more than a little, but she could be modest couldn't she? Or selfish for wanting to hear him talk. As she expect he plunged into the story who Persephone was and her trails. They sounded even more magical coming from his mouth. They ran through the usual sitting and standing poses. She held different flowers. Simple, regal poses.

“I told your mother once that I would make you an empress.” She snapped her head to him. Thankfully not ruining any print. “I suppose I have now. The Empress of the Underworld.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve only ever heard her described as a queen.”

“You think Hades is not an emperor in his own right?”

“I suppose.” Meg was just answering in this way to see his passionate reactions. His eyes, which were fixing a new slide, looked at her quickly. She was looking anywhere but him. Trying to be nonchalant about her impertinence while waiting for a verbal response, or a new direction. A sprig of rosemary tied to a lavender bouquet caught her attention. She pulled it from its tie in the ribbon and started to bruise it. He watched her drag the long sprig under her nose to smell it.

“Pose.” It was a dare. Meg eyed him. Suddenly growing embarrassed by her previous actions. She took this as a direction to be still. He took the shot. The sprig still under her nose. Erik told her he was done because her eyes were closed. When she did so he was watching her. Soaking in as much of her as he could. “You follow direction very well.” Erik said eventually. “Why?”

“It’s my job. Upstairs and for you. It’s my job to help people make art.” Meg was prideful of her role in the opera house. Everything in the building was charged with creating art, or playing a part in it. Some are driven by art. Erik was one of them.

“And what... do you create?”

“Lines.” Meg supposed, “And graceful transitions.”

“And every single one of those lines and transitions are art.” Meg thanked him. He needed her to know that he meant his words.

“No matter how much direction you take, you are creating, Meg.” He was doing that thing she loved. Becoming enraptured by design and artifact. It was passion. “Pose as you wish. Something completely different.” It was a vague command. She was taken aback, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Go on!” He was excited to see what she would do, but she stayed frozen. Afraid that she’d be embarrassed by any decision she’d make. “No directions. Tell me when you are ready.” He waited patiently. Watching her work.

Something completely different? She stood up from her seat and faced her back to him, thinking. Meg rarely liked being put on the spot like this. Even in class, she’d have to feel thoroughly confident with an idea to show her mind in such a publicly. Erik's set much more intimate. She could feel his eyes on her. Meg began to think of the possibilities. Nothing safe felt right. So she had to be daring. Damn him! She thought. Why was he challenging her?

Well Marguerite Giry take a challenge. He wanted something completely different. Daring. But how daring was she willing to go? Meg recalled his very own words from the very first session. “Women in various states of undress.” Meg wanted to laugh at the thought of reaction if she would strip. His eyes would be so wide. In what felt like forever, but what was a very few seconds, Meg decided to not be that daring. Yet.

Meg picked up the front of the chiton enough to sit back down on the fainting couch with one of her legs crossed over the seat and the other draped over the edge. Her foot rested in a demi-pointe position. She was sitting. Not too unusual. Except for the fact that her entire stocking-ed leg was in full view through the side slit of the chiton. Her body no longer faced him but to the left towards the wall perpendicular to the one the set was fixed on. She reached for a single pink rose and held it to her chest that was now cheated to the camera.

With one hand, Meg picked up the fabric to pool it prettily around her crossed leg as she avoided his gaze. Which was now accidentally fixed on the bare bare skin on the top half of her thigh.

Meg decided once again to let go of any doubt and dared to look back at him with a temping look. Erik wanted to scold himself for looking at her in such a manner. He once told her that she did not have to worry, that he would not ask her to pose in various states of undress like other selling models. Though in this case he did not ask, but gave her free range. He did hope that he never implied, he wouldn’t. Not that session at least.

After their last session with the rifle Meg welcomed the gaze. She knew how she felt and hoped it wasn’t a fluke. Though she doubted it. The passion in the way her held her was indescribable. Undeniable.

“Ready.” It was her turn to challenge him. To make him fight between desire and social morality. His gaze shifted. No longer did he stare at her with wonder. Whatever it was, it was dark. He was hard to read then. There was a mix of emotions. Though there definitely was anger laced through his countenance. He wasn’t fuming, or obvious, but she knew better.

Erik wasn’t angry at her, but at himself. Because of how Meg made him feel. Desire. He had resigned himself to never feeling this way again. These sessions were dangerous from the very beginning. She offered to pose for him again, and he accepted her. Asking his model to come back to his home again. That is almost as dangerous as him thinking of Meg as “his model.” He once called her his little muse. To save himself, Erik through himself into his work.

He stared at her as normal. Going over every detail. As usual he didn’t realize he was moving. Meg followed him with her eyes as he grew closer. Dark eyes stared down at hers for a moment when he stood in front of her. Her breath a little shallow. Meg knew he was going to touch her. Maybe lift her chin a little. Whatever it was she wanted it. Waited for it. Without hesitation Erik knelt in front of her draped leg.

Erik knew exactly what he was doing. Both of his hands were around her thigh. The stocking had become folded over the simple pink ribbon that kept it from falling down the leg. His fingers ran under the fabric to find the ribbon. Erik never slowed or stopped for a moment. Long fingers swiftly untied the pink silk. Agile hands thin pulled the stocking from her leg quickly.

She complied eagerly. Extending her leg for him to remove the stocking with ease. Pointing her toes as he pulled it off and slung it over his shoulder to walk back to the camera. She put her leg back into its original position. Fighting a smile with an unintentionally seductive smirk. After a few very little variations Meg turned her body to face the opposite direction. The other leg, with the stocking, now in full view. Before she settled into a position that mirrored the previous, she decided to lay down against the scroll of the fainting couch instead.

She still held the flowers against her chest. Now her legs extended over the couch, just slightly bent. Her ankles now crossed as well. He noticed immediately, the soft hip peeking from the slit in the chiton. At least he assumed it was soft. Erik no longer wanted to assume. The air was so quiet, but comfortable. Meg relished in the undeniable, overpowering tension in the room. She was tired of hoping for more. Maybe if she didn’t try to break this tension. One of them would break sooner.

Meg knew the other stocking would bother him. She knew he’d fix it. Gazing at the flowers, Meg lost herself in the idea of him touching her again. She watched her fingers run over petal after petal until there was a shadow over the makeshift bouquet. How odd. Meg looked up to find Erik, standing over her. Then looked back down at the flowers.

“How could I have forgotten the other stocking?” He knelt down in front of her as he spoke. Now he was closer to not just her face, but the pretty cream stocking and pink garter. Erik couldn’t see the garter with the silk folded over it. If the other had any indication, he knew it to be pink. She continued to play with the flower petals.

“I suppose it was because it was not important enough to remove the other stocking until now.” She had not looked back at him yet. “For the portraits I mean.” Megs eyes traveled to his.

“Oh it’s very important to remove the stocking.” And so he went to unroll the silk, making the other pink garter visible. The tie was in an awkward position so Meg lifted her right hip just enough to let him untie it. In doing this, the slit in the side of the costume grew to show more of her hip. As the tie was pulled from the leg Meg sat up propped on her elbows. He started to pull the stocking from her leg stopping when it was pulled just under the knee. “For the portraits.”

“For the portraits.” Meg said breathlessly. Erik kissed her knee. “Of course…” He continued pulling the stocking down, trailing a few more kisses down her leg. “For the portraits.” The stocking found the floor and Erik's right hand was on her leg. The left on the seat just next to her exposed him. “Absolutely no other reason.” He came closer to her.

“No.” Their faces so close that a kiss could be accidental. “ None. At all.” By no accident, they were kissing. This time without the intention of stopping anytime soon. Meg found his chest and slid her arms up and around his neck. The hand on her leg kept a steady hold as it ran up and up to her thigh. She bent her leg and Erik now sat on the sofa with her. The mask didn’t truly get in the way, but Meg would have preferred for it to be off. It wasn’t time to ask about that just yet.

He pulled away, looking at Meg and her wide eyes. Then walked away yet again. Meg watched him walk away with disbelief. She rested back on her hands, waiting for him to say something. Do anything. He went to camera and took a portrait. She stared him down through the lens. The fact that he tore himself from his passion just to photograph her in such a state was exactly something Erik would do.

When Meg knew he was done, she threw her head back and laughed. Erik watched Meg as he usually did. Analysing her. Still thinking of all things he’s wanted to do to her, with her, just a few minutes ago. Meg went back to watching him as he started to come back to her. When he was close enough to reach, Meg stretched up her leg to stop him.

“There are no more stockings.”

“Oh. I made quite sure of that.” He looked down at the leg that kept him at a distance. She kept her pointed toes against his chest as he sat down between her legs. When seated, Erik grabbed her ankle softly and let it rest in his lap.

“Am I to pose anymore tonight?” Meg asked, somewhat hopeful that the answer would be no. She drew up close to him. Erik shook his head and grabbed her so that she was even closer. His hold was tight and secure. This time she actively kissed him. Erik did not keep to one spot for very long. As he kissed her neck, Meg looked to the meticulously decorated ceiling wondering, no. Hoping, that he would not find a reason to stop.

She was in a lucky position. With her legs stretched over his. Erik removed his hand from her jaw and hooked his arm under her leg and stood with her in his arms. Meg quickly grabbed onto him tighter in surprise. He started carrying her to the hall, to that room she always got ready in she presumed. Meg had spent enough time not touching him while he touched her over the past months. She seized the opportunity to kiss his neck while unwrapping his cravat like a present.

He asked her to open the door once they arrived to the room.Once inside he kicked the door closed. The only light in the room was the dim lamp on the dressing table and the fireplace that always seemed to be lit. Meg knew there was two levels of the room. The bottom held a sitting area with a fireplace, various tables with fresh flowers and a door she assumed was a closet. The top was filled with a large four-poster bed with curtains spilling from the tester, identically dressed and extravagant nightstands, an even more elaborate dressing table, and a more than up to date washroom.

She had always looked at the room in great detail because it was always changing. First the color of the wallpaper from blue to pink. The love-seats reupholstered. The beds shape completely different. This large wardrobe was gone. Erik was trying to rid himself of every trace of the Louis-Philippe style he’d built with Christine in mind. The new furnishings weren’t intentionally built with Meg in mind, but the coloring and ornate woodwork seemed too perfect to be a coincidence.

He set her on the bed and Meg set his cravat and pin on the nightstand. Erik was already bent over her kissing her as she turned her head back. As Erik worked, he usually abandoned his jacket and waistcoat. Thankfully he had lost them early that night. Meg made quick work of his shirt and suspenders as he kicked off his footwear. Once the dark shirt was on the carpeted floor, he was on top of her. Kissing down her jaw again. Forgetting the mask, Meg ran her hands up his neck into his hair, knocking the wire out of place.

Meg was so tied up trying to refocus it took a few moments to realize that he slowed his pace almost to a crawl. His hold on her grew tighter. When he pulled away from her, she finally looked down and opened her eyes. The mask was lopsided from their passions and her knocking into it. She could see a bit of the twisted, discolored skin. They were only looking at each other for a few, long moments. To show him that his face would have no negative effect on her by grabbing onto him tighter and by kissing his uncovered cheek and jaw.

Her hands were at the base of his neck now, keeping clear of the wire. Erik appreciated that she left him alone on the topic of his mask. He pushed it back into place and plunged to ravage her neck. He felt her hands leave his neck and lost track of them as Meg went to take the crown out of her hair. Soon a pile of pins, silk and fresh flowers sat to her right. She picked up the pile and interrupted him to lean over and lay the pile on the nightstand.

He took this time to kiss her shoulder through the loops made by the chiton sleeves. They were soon sitting side by side again. Meg made for the cord that cinched the waist of the chiton. As she focused more on his lips, the double knot was proving difficult to undo with him so close to her.

“Help.” She mumbled in frustration. He laughed and drew away enough to mess with the knot. Once it was free he pulled from her body. Once it was off, Meg stood. Her knee propped up on the bed. She pulled the sheet over her head and discarded it to the floor. Erik figured that there was absolutely no way that his luck would be this favorable to him. She must be a dream. The woman bared herself to him so willingly.

Megs chest was filled with nerves as she waited for him to do, say anything. Erik placed his hands on her now-bare waist and kissed her tenderly. He had seen her hips earlier. Picturing their softness, but nothing could compare to its actual softness and _warmth_.


	8. Chapter 8

The more he pressed his face to her front, the more aware of the mask Erik became. The piece would only cause more problems the further they went. Meg was now propped against an abundance of pillows. Many had already fallen to the floor. When she felt a small one she’d push it away. Without the chiton, Erik took the chance to make his way down her chest. Once past her collarbone, Erik pulled off his mask and tossed it aside. Which landed on the bed nearby.

 

Meg noticed the absence of the smooth, enameled Gutta Percha. She opened her eyes to see the luxurious tester. Erik abandoned the mask because of its vexatious digging and moving as he kissed his way down Meg's chest. She resisted closing her eyes in pleasure and looked down at him. Meg told him to stop in the most inaudible of whispers.

 

Eventually, she pushed his shoulders away enough for him to question her in frustration. Meg moved her hands to the side of his face and she just held him there. It was easy to see how people would find his face frightening in the dark. Erik was a frightening man. Who most certainly did not need a deformity to terrify the wits out of someone. But it certainly did not help.

 

The more Meg held him there. Scanning over his face, the large and small twists and discolorations. She couldn’t be frightened. Not while he let her touch him in this way. A new feeling consumed her. This lust. Was now made different. The fact that he bore himself so simply, to touch her in the way she had been waiting for for months, was all she needed to reassure her that she’d hate to stop.

 

She smiled at him as he watched her every expression. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting for disgust. Every second felt like agony. Waiting. He held back a flinch as she touched the side of his face that was usually covered with light fingers. To keep himself from showing that kind of display he gripped onto her bare skin with even more force.

 

Her body shivered in response and let out a little hitch in her breath. This drove her to pull him in to kiss her. Meg did take advantage of being able to truly run her hands through his hair. Especially as Erik made his way back down her neck, her chest, and even further. Meg wanted to touch him and keep him close. The best she could do was to become acquainted with his arms. She watched his shoulders blades and noticed the green color of his veins. Scars were traced and studied.

 

Perfectly manicured hands covered his callous ones as he gripped her breast. Grabbing control over his hand she led their hands down her body until they were in front of his face. He covered her own with his large hands and kissed them. Their fast pace slowed to a crawl as Erik brought his attention to her hips. His smooth cheek was against the bone as his hands trailed down her waist and down her hips.

 

“These hips…” Erik spoke almost to the skin, rather than to her, “Made to torment.” From the moment he saw them poke through the sides of the pretty pink chiton, he knew that that would be the part of her he’d completely spoil once in full view. Eventually, those callous hands made their way to her thighs. He noticed every single freckle on her skin.

 

At first, their pace was overwhelmingly fast. Now they moved excruciatingly slow. Sitting propped on the pillows, Meg watched him like an empress. He was too far to easily touch now, sitting up on his knees between her legs. Meg gave a great stretch like an elegant feline against the stack of pillows that survived. Arms extended up high. Even then she looked like a dancer on stage. She flexed her fingers and his traveled up her bent legs to the knee.

 

“We are unequal.” A new kiss was stopped with these words. She dared herself not to stay passive. For months she waited. Posing. Now was her time to be active in this dalliance. Of course, she meant his clothing and her lack thereof. Meg sat up and scooted over to be in the center of the large bed. “Join me?” Erik completely understood her then.

 

Soon they were completely equal but too enveloped in kisses and caresses to dwell on that any longer. When Erik had rejoined her on the bed, he settled on his back. Meg's sweet face was over his and her graceful arm ran over his chest. She kissed him so softly, almost as if she were a dream. As if the hand on her would go straight through her pillow-skin like passing through steam.

 

Meg ran her nails up to his neck, sending noticeable shivers down his body. He used that to his advantage by holding her tighter. They built up the passion and force like before. This time, Meg grew confident accepting that Erik would not push her away at any moment. In fact, she did not have much time to dwell on that any longer. His hand absently found its way into her hair. Blonde curls were wrapped around his hand. With an accidental tug, Meg moaned unlike any other time before.

 

Their pace was no longer soft and calculated. It was needy. All either wanted was more.

 

And that’s what they got.

 

Somewhere along the line, Erik had taken over once again. As much as Meg didn’t want to be passive, she would admit without hesitation that she preferred this dynamic. Permission was asked, and permission was granted. He touched her in every pleasurable way, and Erik found pleasure in every little reaction she gave him.

 

Meg arched her back into her release as Erik buried his face him her neck. They held each other through every second of release as if neither could get close enough. When Erik had pulled himself up to look at her face, he noticed a tear.

 

“Darling woman, what have I done?” The panic in his voice was met her ears as he tried to remove himself from her body completely. Meg grabbed him.

 

“No! No.” She started to laugh. “I am not crying out of unhappiness or hurt.” Meg grabbed his face to make him look at her. “There are just a lot of emotions.” She continued to laugh at herself and apologized for scaring him. Erik tried to comprehend that these tears were not made from malice or fear. He kissed the tear that still lingered and dried on her face.

 

It filled Meg with the greatest joy to stay there in that massive bed holding him. He whispered a list of compliments and thank yous to her skin. Meg tried to repay them with kisses and even words, but she could tell it made him uncomfortable as he either ignored them or kissed her to keep her from continuing. She would make sure he knew how she felt about him. One day.

 

The first time was frantic and hard. To fulfill this building need. Now Erik was excruciatingly slow. Going over her skin, and most intimate parts of her body with slow movement. Taking in every freckle and mark he had missed the first time. Meg took this liberty to ask about scars. He told her very little about them, but from what her mother had told her over the years, he had lived a dangerous, and mysterious life.

 

Meg knew she’d remember the feeling of his hands and the paths they took on her body. Even as she made sure to cherish those hands, she hoped that she would not have to remember them. As the night came to an end. Meg tried to keep her mind from hoping this would not be their last night.

 

\---------------------------

 

Somewhere in the night, Meg had fallen asleep, and too Erik's surprise, he fell asleep too. He woke up to the feeling of something on his back. It was a steady feeling of little pricks as he breathed. Upon opening his eyes he saw the stack of pins and flowers on the nightstand. Next to the pile so reminiscent of Meg, laid the mask he kept so guarded at all times. Without a thought, Erik reached for the mask to put it on. A little sleepy whimper stopped him before the wire could go over his head.

 

Meg turned over in her half-asleep state. Now facing inward, Erik realized the poking feeling on his back was the ends of her hair. Which was now covering her like a sheet in a wild fashion. The covers left her chest bare. Flashes of just a few hours before came to Erik. Scenes of a heaving chest by his hand filled his thoughts. He remembered how her skin changed. Becoming positively pink and hot with the exercise.

 

Guilty for staring at her body as she slept, Erik secured the mask onto his head. Now with her cheeks were red with sleep. He found them irresistible to touch. Without hesitation, he swept the hair away from her face and kissed her cheek. All while taking care to try not to wake her.

 

Meg would consider herself a light sleeper at times. The feeling of his lips was her wakeup call. She paid attention to his hands on her cheek, and once she was awake enough, Meg turned her head to kiss his right hand.

 

“How long have you been awake?” Erik teased her by pretending to be offended.

“Not very long.” She returned, suddenly feeling awkward. There was no guide on how to act now. Especially now. It’s not as if they confessed their undying love for each other. In fact, the words were never close to being uttered. It was Meg's secret and Erik's denial. Lust. Simple lust.

 

If only it was just that.

Meg stretched her feet, the sound of her popping ankles reminded her of how good it would be to pop the rest of her joints in class. Class. Meg jumped up with a swear that made Erik smile. She was naked but she paid no mind as she ran to look at the clock on the mantle. Five minutes. She had five minutes to be in the second cellar stretching.

 

Luckily as she had worn her rehearsal dress to his lair the just hours ago. Everything sat in a neat pile by the fire to be warm. Erik watched amused as she snatched the pile and rushed to the washroom. She rushed as fast as she could, running the water to wash her face and refresh from the night before. There was absolutely no way she could arrive to class without being impeccable in image. If a dancer was to be late, the dancer in question must be put together and ready to learn upon arrival.

 

“I will make you something to eat.” Meg was drying her face as Erik knocked on the door, the sound made her jump. With a yelp she thanked him. After the shock, Meg grabbed onto the sink to steady herself. Meg Giry was the definition of promptness and professionalism. Her mother made her a model of what a perfect employee of the Opera Populaire Ballet Company should be.

 

Madame Giry never let her slip. She was to never be late. To keep the white of the rehearsal costumes pristine at all times. To have freshly ribboned pointe shoes on standby at all times. To teach whenever possible. To work until bleeding and to complain little. Meg hoped her punishment would be light. She knew she’d have to stay behind. With a show that night, Meg was destined to not have a moment's rest until reaching her bed. Though she did wish that she could return to that large bed just outside the door.

 

She fixed her hair as quickly as she could and began to dress. The chemise and pantalettes we settled in order and she went for her stockings to find them absent. With a new panic, Meg had to think of a solution. She would have to take the time in her dressing room to find work with a new pair. Then she remembered. Those already red cheeks from sleep and the panic grew even more vibrant.

 

Flashes of Erik's hands on her thighs and the silk peeling of her legs came to her mind. Stopping her in her tracks. She never did pay attention to where they dropped to the floor. It didn’t matter. Her mind was filled with his hands.

 

If she was not careful, Meg would go back to bed, strip, and call for him to ravage her again. Being the good model she was, Meg forced herself to break the images by opening her eyes. Since putting on her corset before her stockings and shoes would be a beginners mistake. She had to retrieve her stockings and garters.

 

When she emerged from the room and walked down the hall she passed the kitchen. Where Erik stood waiting for a kettle to boil while reading a letter. She paused at the door to watch him for a moment. His eyes were furrowed. The letter was clearly long, with many pages. She found it odd that a man such as he, an anti-social man would have such a letter. An image of a very unhappy Madame came to her mind. With that, she forced herself to keep going.

 

One stocking and ribbon was found at first sight. Meg kept looking around for the other. While down on her knees looking under the loveseat she called out to Erik. When he arrived, Meg asked him where the other stocking was. Erik found it almost immediately. She had missed it in her rush.

 

“Ah.” He picked the silks up and hid them behind his back. She popped up and looked at him. The smile on his face gave him away. Meg stood and walked to him. She had to look up at him completely.

“I believe I took those stockings off, for a reason.” Erik trailed from her face to her chemised body. It wasn’t the revealing chiton, but it was the closest layer to her naked body. He was using that voice, that one that could melt Meg if her resolve to be quick wasn’t so strong. Oh, how close she was to breaking. “I am not sure that I want to give them back.” Her eyes closed taking in his voice. He leaned down and kissed her.

Immediately Meg snaked her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. Keeping one hand and the silks behind his back, he grabbed her around the waist with the free hand. She moaned into the kiss in such a way that Erik's mind, which was previously focused on teasing her, go blank. While he focused on the kiss Meg shifted to reached behind him. This time her tiny form was beneficial, she grabbed the silks and was free from his grasp quickly.

 

Their spots we reversed now. Erik stood pleased with her playful nature. A perfect match. He knew in his heart that the match was not only in the playfulness of nature.

“Forgive me, but really have to go.” She sat on the loveseat and pulled the stockings on, tying the garters under the knee out of necessity. He let out a hearty laugh.

 

“I-” He was cut off by the kettle screech. Excusing himself, he went to bring relief from the screech. When she was done, Meg went back to the washroom to put on her slippers. She would have to go by her dressing room to get her pointe shoes and her bag, but she was finally fully dressed. Making sure her hair was in order one more time, Meg rushed out of the room.

 

“Would you take me up?” He was dressed simply. Like when he was engrossed in her portraits. No coat and a slightly unbuttoned shirt. Meg was anxious to leave. Her mother would, of course, be worried. Especially if she had sent a little one to find Meg. If the little one came back claiming that Meg wasn’t there. She would be questioned to no end.

 

Meg would not only have to explain the portraits but why she was with Erik all night. Or lie. Madame Giry wanted Meg to be held above other ballet girls in the eyes of moral society. If everyone in the troop knew her to be missing only to return without a tragic story of woe, Meg's reputation would become perfectly in line with the stereotype that ruined women the moment they became a performer.

 

Not that this reputation would be wrong, but Madame Giry and the entire company did not need to know. To be truthful, Meg Giry would not mind the reputation. She already had it as a dancer, and so did her fellow company members. Meg never cared for their reputation. If it was true and right, Meg did not care. They were her family, and that did not matter to her one bit.

 

Meg only cared for her reputation to spare her mother. As the grand ballet mistress of the Opera Populaire, she must be free of any speculation of a wicked character. No rich patron would dream of letting their child study under the tutelage of Madame Giry if she was known to keep a loose leash on her dancers. It was okay for children to learn to dance until a certain age, and they made sure their virtue was carefully watched and protected.

 

Rich patrons could easily take their money elsewhere. How could a ballet mistress keep track of their precious little one if she could not keep track of her very own daughter? Even if Madame Giry never made any comments to Meg about this, Meg refused to be the ballet girl who ruined that for her mother. Meg gave herself incredible goals and expectations. Who was she without a higher than the sky goal.

 

“Not until you eat and finish a cup of tea.” Erik could not let his very best dancer and model go to class without sustenance. Especially if she had been with him all morning and the night before.

 

“Erik I will be so terribly late.” She pleaded with him as she stood over him. He was sitting with a cup of tea in his hand. Meg was going to fight him once again but decided against it. She had slowed down enough to realize she hadn’t eaten since before coming down to the house by the lake.

 

He always set out bread, cheese, and fruit but Meg didn’t have the time to even think about moving for a bite. She did sip her wine as usual, but even then, not very much was gone.

 

“Do you promise not to distract me if I eat?” Meg looked at him with fake sharpness. Erik put down the cup and threw up his left hand while crossing the right over his heart.

 

“I shall keep my distance.” Satisfied with the answer, Meg took a seat next to him and poured her own tea. The tea was perfect. The night before was filled with emotions and pleasures. She did wish that he would distract her. But duty still won out. Erik was very good at distracting. If only she could convince herself to forget class, she could stay there in the house by the lake and indulge.

 

The idea of going missing sounded nicer by the second. If she could be free of class she could crush the awkward silence by taking him back to bed. It wasn’t as if the company would throw a fit like they did for Christine Daae when she went missing. Maybe after a missed performance, they’d start looking. Madame Giry would push for it. For any of the corps member, they’d be considered on the pulpit of being fired. Two missed performances without warning or good explanation would be grounds for termination.

 

There were a hundred dancers ready and willing to take their place. Of course, kidnapping could void the offense. She could come running in yelling and warning about the great opera ghost and the horrors of the lair. No one but her mother would question it. Then she could explain to Madame Giry only. They all trusted Meg Giry. Little Giry was always the girl to ask about The Phantom. Now more than ever.

 

The thought itself should take away their trust in her. She did lie with the enemy. He was an artist. But so were they. Who was he, a musician, to critique the way their bodies moved? And yet, he did so without a second thought. He was right often. Some members of the corps would be upset at his comments. The letters would prompt Madame Giry to nitpick them even more than usual on a particular measure.

 

Erik would claim he knew more than he really did. For confidence is the key to making people believe you a genius. Meg would see right through that, however. But what he could tell is when Madame Giry was unhappy with a movement. He'd simply remind her of that misstep.

 

As Meg bit into her bread, Erik stood up. He had excused himself to the kitchen. Meg didn’t know what for, but it was for the long letter that now hung on Erik's mind. He paid little attention to his walk as he made his way back out of the kitchen. It was his home, of course, he could navigate it without a single look. She continued to eat a satisfactory amount as he came to sit back down next to her.

 

He read as he reached for his tea. Meg couldn’t read the letter. Most of it was turned away from her, but the folded over bits she could see without looking as if she was trying was unreadable. Text made from characters, not Latin letters. She could not even guess. The only characters she could recognize were Hebrew texts from the little bit she was taught when she was little. The text of the letter was not Hebrew, that was for sure.

 

He read it with an unreadable disposition.

 

“You know…” Meg waited for him to look up, and continued when he did. “People say you don’t speak to anyone but those in this opera.” She clearly meant the very long letter in his hand. In a way, she was asking about it and it’s origins.

 

“You, my dear, should know very well not to believe what they say about The Opera Ghost.” Erik was right. Meg did know him very well in a certain way. But he was a stranger in so many other ways. He went back to the letter after he answered her. The change in attitude was frightening. If Meg had felt it her place, she would have implored him to explain. Erik folded the letter as he stood.

 

“Finish any bit you can and we will be off when I return.” Meg nodded and Erik disappeared into the hall. In all the times he left her alone in the drawing-room, Meg never felt uncomfortable. She dwelled on the letter. Lost in her thought and a long sip of tea, Meg was startled when he called her name. He was dressed, not just to take her upstairs. The cloak and hat made it seem as if was going to leave. Meg wanted to question it, but the circumstances made her too antsy. How very late she was. He held up his arm for her to escort her. Most gentlemanly.

 

Once out of the door, Erik asked her if he was to take her directly to the second cellar.

 

“No, I need to go to my dressing room.” He nodded and picked the correct and fastest route. They made haste and were in the dressing room quickly. Meg gathered her bad and pointe shoes in a great hurry. Once she was sure she was in order to run to the classroom, Meg made for the two sets of double doors. She tried to yell him a quick goodbye

 

“Meg.” She stopped and turned, holding one of the doors of the first set open. Erik met her and grabbed her arms. One arm had her shawl draped over its gentle skin. He kissed her like a soldier going off to war would kiss his betrothed. Deep and lingering. There was something he wasn’t telling her. He was not ready to.

 

“Have a good day, Meg. I will try to see you after the show.” Meg nodded, a little wary of his actions still. With a quick peck and a goodbye, Meg fled from the room.

 

She passed a chiming grandfather clock on the way down. The clock was a landmark to show the way to the room. She cursed time as she continued down the stairs. Now in the hall, she heard the sound of blocked shoes hitting the floor in a familiar pattern. They were exactly on schedule.

 

“Where have you been?” Her mother voice came from behind her. She appeared from an office after seeing the blonde pass in a hurry.

“I overslept.” Not a lie by any means.

  
“I sent a little one up for you.” Meg's mind went into panic mode. “They have not come back yet. You must have missed her.”

“I came from my dressing room, I left my shoes.” Madame Giry nodded.

 

“Ma chére. You are to be an example for these girls. I will allow you this once. Do get more sleep so that it doesn’t happen again. Now, go stretch.” Madame Giry kisses Meg's forehead and Meg turned to get into the room. “And you will be staying after.” Her tone meant business as usual.

 

“Of course, maman!” Meg called out her mother and went to feel the shame of coming in late.


End file.
